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FUCK

26 March 2015, 12:27

Son of a bitch, fuck a giant blue buffalo.

The internet is trying to fucking kill me:

5-reasons-running-may-not-help-you-lose-weight

So goddammit? Is all the horrid exercise not doing the good I thought it was? I just don’t want to maintain, I want to be IN SHAPE. I want to lose POUNDAGE. And I’m not afraid to work hard at it. I just want the faustian deal I made with the treadmill to be a consistent kind of proposition. I do abhorrent trudging for an hour or so, and I get better, stronger and thinner.

I have to admit, that within a quick amount of time, my time on the devil machine has gotten far easier to complete and my heart rate is not even getting up to 120. Today, until the very end, when I decided to put the fucking thing on KILL-ME incline and sprint for a couple minutes, did I get my heart rate up to 140. And all the comments on the link, CONTRADICT the article. So what the blue moon is going on?

Things I do know:

I hate all the exercise.
I sweat like they say you should do.
I was slowly increasing the duration and speed.
I have lost a bit of weight.
I have gotten stronger.
I smell a WHOLE lot more crappy than normal most of the time.

This is what shit is looking like these days. I don’t know what happened there in February. Probably doughnuts. And my toey hurts. I think my little toenail on my second toe is about to fall off – it feels all funny, like before when I started running in Forest Shitty. When it did that, it FELL THE FUCK OFF. Did you hear me. FELL THE FUCK OFF. OFF MY TOE. FELL OFF. FUCK. Pushed off by a blister, I think. Grew back though. I just don’t want shit falling off of me at this point. Yes, my shoes are the right size. Yes, I wear thick socks. I thought the yucky blister feet was because of Forest Shitty because it’s a horrid diseased little fucked up southern town the devil pooped out after eating bad eggs, but it might be the running that causes yucky toes. Aside from the toes, everything else seems to have gotten better, and even more tone. I eat a bit better, and a whole lot less. Things fit better, although that could all be in my mind, or all the clothes has given up the ghost and surrendered, choosing to fall off my body instead of spend another minute trying to hold on.

I think my genetics is fucking me up the butt on this one. I adapt real quickly to all the shit I throw at myself – higher speeds, steeper inclines, longer times. Just to push myself, just to get that heartrate up, just for a minute there I started running. As I was running and holding onto the fucking machine for dear life, I thought I was having a heart attack but I think it was just gas. I keep hearing short burst of intense-beyond-your-limit exercise is better for you than the long Batan death march kind. So, I’ve decide to do 30 minutes of the death march time, then for that last 30 minutes, try to balls out run for as long as I can, as many times as I can. Get that frikkin heart rate up there, boy. I definitely need some advice that doesn’t come from google. But progress is being made, and maybe I’m just OCD manic panicking for no reason.

Now. I’m going to go lay down for a bit, until I can see straight again.

  • Later

Looked at my poor toe. It’s a blister. Underneath the toenail. Kill me.